


Half the Man I Used To Be

by TheLastWhiteRose



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, I thought that this would be cute, M/M, OOC, What else do I write, and painful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:52:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLastWhiteRose/pseuds/TheLastWhiteRose
Summary: Marco, with his sweet smile and idealistic nature, always putting Jean before him. Marco, who blushed at every raunchy joke he made, whose cheeks flushed a scarlet red when Jean kissed every freckle on his face, deserved better than a couple of wood planks haphazardly nailed together.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission from one of my wonderful classmates, Abby. I took some creative liberties with Marco's funeral, but I thought it would be more personal if I used Jean like this. Enjoy!

Brown orbs stared intensely at the pathetic excuse of a pyre that the Survey Corps had provided for Marco. Jean lifted his head halfheartedly, taking a bleary glance around the room. Any higher, and the soldiers standing near and around him would surely notice the tears staining his pale cheeks. Jean hastily drew an arm to wipe at the perspiration stemming from his eyes, swallowing any and all complaints about the ceremony’s obvious lack of effort.

As much as Jean attempted to be grateful that there was a ceremony, the familiar pit of blinding rage lodged itself into Jean’s stomach. Marco, with his sweet smile and idealistic nature, always putting Jean before him. Marco, who blushed at every raunchy joke he made, whose cheeks flushed a scarlet red when Jean kissed every freckle on his face, deserved better than a couple of wood planks haphazardly nailed together. He deserved better than a dimly lit room with peeling wallpaper, with a poor excuse of a soldier sobbing over his ashes. 

Jean took a deep breath, calming his animated breathing. He took several measured steps to the podium, which Levi had left for formality’s sake. He couldn't help but feel gratitude towards the shorter male, as he now had something to grip onto, as if in fear he was going to collapse. Being Marco’s close friend and (secret) lover, it was only expected that he should say a few words, not only about him, but of all the deceased. 

“M-My name is J-Jean Kirstein, a graduate of the 104th Training Corps, and a close friend of several of the deceased.” Jean swallowed, experiencing all of the suppressed emotions he had been attempting to conceal. “One of these friends was Marco Bott, who was a natural born leader, and someone I was proud to call my friend. Not only that, but Marco was kind, something that's often overlooked in this day and age.” He laughed nervously, rubbing the nape of his neck. 

Despite his outward confidence and lack of emotion, several tears had already escaped the confines of his hazel eyes, seeping onto the mahogany podium in wet, fat drops. Nobody could know that he, Jean Kirstein, sixth in his class, had been hopelessly in love with his close friend Marco Bott. He didn't know the Survey Corps’ policy with homosexual men, but he could only assume that they wouldn't be as tolerant as the Military Brigade. 

Jean cleared his throat, attempting to finish his short lived obituary. “Marco Bott will serve as the single most missed casualty. Without him, I'm half the man I used to be.” Jean cringed internally at the unintentional pun, curling his hands into fists. “H-He will continue to live in all of our hearts. May his memory outlive us.” With that, Jean stepped down, making the way for Eren to say a few words.

He stared blankly at the dark haired male, subconsciously tuning him out as he gazed at his hands. In a perfect world, Marco would be sitting next to him, their hands intertwined. He scoffed. Marco always was the best of the two, and he was almost angry at Marco for leaving him. He knew this anger was irrational, but he felt it nonetheless.

After all, Jean was only half of the couple. Even then, he was always the worse part. He represented flaws, a blunt pencil in a bin of sharp. He put his blonde head in his hands, sobbing intermittently. 

Without Marco, without his unending support, Jean was mentally the same as Marco was physically: half the men they used to be.


End file.
